


Give Me Just a Little

by Ammeh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Pushy Hilda Valentine Goneril, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Fisting, sexy bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: Marianne gets hit with a strange spell in combat.Hilda has some ideas on how to fix it, and is more than happy to help out.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56
Collections: Marihilda NSFW Week!





	Give Me Just a Little

**Author's Note:**

> Pushy Hilda haunts my dreams, so have some more.

When the spell hits her at point blank range, Marianne is expecting pain. 

Or a knockback, or the choking sensation of Silence, or _something_. But she sends a Blizzard through the bandit who cast it, not feeling inconvenienced at all. If anything, there’s a rush, a reckless buzz in her veins as her spells tear through the squad that ambushed them. The wet thwacks of Hilda’s axe behind her only feed it, form a backdrop to the crashes of ice and thunder that surge from her fingers. By the time the last man is down her body is singing, high on the thrill of battle. _What is she turning into?_

Hilda sighs disgustedly, wiping off her axe on a bandit’s cape. “This was _supposed_ to be basic scouting. What was the professor thinking, sending the two of us alone?”

“We did manage to handle it,” Marianne points out hesitantly. She’d hate to be a burden and request additional assistance...

“Ugh, yes, but we shouldn’t have had to! Two delicate maidens fighting off an ambush? It’s a travesty.”

“Sorry. It must be troublesome for you, to get sent out with just me…”

Hilda shakes her head. “Really, Marianne, did you _see_ how many bandits you took out? Clearly I’m the liability here.”

Marianne looks over the battlefield, and the large number of bandits that definitely weren’t her kills. “Um. Okay.”

Slinging her axe over her shoulder, Hilda starts back towards camp, gabbing all the while about backup support and how appallingly close she’d come to an arterial spray hitting her sleeve.

Marianne follows, nodding along in a futile effort to stem the nagging self-consciousness of having nothing clever to contribute to the conversation. She’s amazed that Hilda seems to consider her a friend.

Even once the ambush site is well behind them, the rush doesn’t die down. 

It’s like a fire stoked low in her belly, dropping lower and lower, until it’s not her stomach that feels hot but her...loins. Is she really… she just _killed people_!

She tries to focus her thoughts by running through her to-do list for once they arrive back at camp, but the teasing heat in her groin just keeps building. Her panties are starting to feel wet. What is _wrong with her?_

Abruptly, she remembers the spell.

The timing aligns. Manipulating the body is the domain of white magic. But why would someone cast a spell to _arouse_ as part of an attack? Maybe they cast it wrong—or maybe it’s her cursed blood, twisting the energy that hit her into something primal and feral.

Concentrating, she tries to scan her magical signature for abnormalities, but she can’t get a read on her own energy. Beyond that she doesn’t like the feel of it, as always. 

She doesn’t realize she’s slowing down until Hilda looks over at her with a frown.

“Hey Marianne, are you doing okay?”

“Y-yes! Yes, I’m fine.” She does her best to smile calmly. 

“Are you sure? You look kinda...flushed.”

Marianne nods. “Yes. Don’t worry.”

Under her skirts, her quim twitches hungrily. She feels so _empty_.

“Okay, if you say so…” Hilda gives her a dubious look, but keeps walking.

As they continue, the feeling builds to an ache. Just the minor reverberations of her own footsteps are driving her mad. Hilda’s a few steps ahead, maybe…

Gingerly, she presses the heel of her palm into her mound. It’s almost enough to make her gasp, at once alleviating and inflaming the urgent need inside her. 

Now that she’s tasted that bit of contact, she can’t pull away. She digs her palm in harder, slides it further between her legs for a better angle. _Oh._

“Uh, Marianne?”

Hilda’s looking back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised incredulously. Oh Goddess.

Marianne yanks her hand away like she’s been burned, searching frantically for an apology. “Sorry, I—had an itch there. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Jeez, Marianne, I’m not gonna gossip about you scratching your thighs...but uh, it looked like you were _grinding_ or something. You sure it was just an itch?”

“I—there’s something wrong with me,” she confesses in a rush. “You should stay away.”

“Like, new wrong, or same old ‘oh no I’m cursed’ wrong?”

The words come out faster than she knows they should, frustrated and tumbling over each other. “I was hit with a strange spell, back in the fight. I don’t know what it did, but since then I’ve been feeling…”

“Feeling...?” Hilda steps closer when she should be backing away, looks her up and down.

“Strange,” Marianne says. “I’ll see Manuela when we get back to camp. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Strange _how?”_ Hilda asks, taking another step closer. “We’re still at _least_ an hour away from camp. What if it’s something bad? I’ve been doing some white magic training for the war cleric certification, you know. I don’t want everyone thinking I left you under some weird spell because I was too lazy to treat you.”

“...Hot,” Marianne mumbles. “Hungry. Like...like I need something. Down there.”

Hilda’s eyes widen, her mouth popping into a graceful pink O of surprise. Everything she does is so lovely, even at times like this. “Huh. That sounds pretty serious.”

Marianne shakes her head firmly. “I’m sure it’s fine. We can keep going.”

“It’s some weird sex spell, Marianne, how do you know it’s going to be _fine?_ At least let me do a field examination, or whatever.” She makes shooing motions with her hands, urging Marianne towards a flat patch of grass along the side of the trail.

“I—do you really think it will help?” Marianne’s not entirely sure what Hilda’s planning to examine. It doesn’t feel like there’s a wound, and she doesn’t think Hilda is skilled enough at white magic to handle a purely magical ailment—oh, but it’s rude of her to think like that.

“It can’t be worse than doing nothing, can it? Come on, let Hilda take a look.” Hilda squeezes her shoulders comfortingly. Her hands trail down Marianne’s arms—and Marianne’s so caught up in the touch and the proximity that she’s completely unprepared when those hands grab her skirts and yank them up to her waist.

She gasps, fighting the urge to clamp her legs together as she’s bared up to the hips.

“Wow, you’re really leaking.” With a look of fascination, Hilda runs a finger up her inner thigh to investigate, smearing through the wetness dripping down.

Marianne yelps, cheeks embarrassingly hot—it’s just an exam! But her body doesn’t want to listen. It’s going wild at the skin-to-skin touch, and thinks the hand trailing up her thigh is headed somewhere. 

The top of Hilda’s hand brushes against her panties, and her hips hump forward before she can stop them.

 _Oh no_.

Hilda laughs awkwardly. “You’re really desperate for it, huh?”

“I—I’m so sorry.” If only she could sink through the ground. “You don’t have to do this. We should just keep going.”

“Don’t be silly, Marianne. There’s _clearly_ something wrong here.” Hilda brushes her knuckles over the damp fabric covering Marianne’s mound.

All Marianne’s attempts to tamp down the urges welling up inside her fly out of her head before they can roost. And the noise that’s pushed out with them is _hungry_.

“See?” Hilda says, with a hint of I-told-you-so. “I’m barely even touching you, but you’re moaning like I’ve got my head between your legs or something.”

The mental image tears a gasp out of her just on its own, her loins clenching with a fresh gush of slick at the thought of Hilda’s lips _down there_.

Hilda just shakes her head, like this is confirming her point. “Let’s see...the first step of diagnosis is determining the scope of the issue, right?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushes Marianne’s wadded skirt against her hands, urging her to take over holding it. 

“Ye-yes, you could say that.” Marianne’s not certain what the plan is, but she accepts the skirt.

“So like...is it just your pussy that’s super sensitive right now, or is it other parts of you too?” Eyes curious, Hilda trails two fingers down the line of Marianne’s throat.

It’s nothing like the contact lower down, but Marianne swallows, her stomach jumping eagerly. Or maybe that’s from hearing Hilda say _pussy._

“Well?” Hilda asks.

Oh. Right. She should be replying. “It’s...a little sensitive, I think.”

“Okay, that’s not very helpful...” Hilda continues lower, until her fingertips are ghosting over Marianne’s bosom through her dress. “How about here?”

Marianne bites the inside of her lip as her nipples tighten at the touch. Is she actually more sensitive than normal, or is it just that Hil—someone else—is touching her? “I think s—”

Without warning, Hilda pinches one of her nipples through her dress. 

“— _oh!”_ Her voice cracks embarrassingly.

“Sensitive?”

“Mm-hmm!” Marianne squeaks out through clenched teeth, doing her best to stomp down the part of her that’s hoping Hilda will do the other side.

Rather than release her nipple, Hilda squeezes it rhythmically between her fingers, frowning. “That noise wasn’t super clear, Marianne. Does it hurt? Feel good?”

“G-good!” Up until this point, her breasts hadn’t been calling for attention like her quim had been, but as soon as Hilda releases her nipple, they start screaming for it. She misses the shield of her usual corset, the breastband she wears on missions thin and pliant enough to leave them feeling exposed and vulnerable even under her bodice.

“All right, my evaluation is that your chest is affected!” Hilda says brightly. “Now, the area showing the most _dramatic_ symptoms is still your genital region, so we should probably do a more thorough examination there.” 

Marianne swallows. “O-okay.”

But Hilda just stands there, looking expectantly at her. “Well?”

“Um...yes?”

“Lift your skirt up! I can’t examine you if you’re blocking my access.”

Oh. She’s still holding the skirt that Hilda had handed it to her, but she’s let her arms fall, lowering it back to mid-thigh. Goddess, she can’t even handle one simple task correctly.

Hastily, she lifts it back up, cheeks burning with embarrassment as Hilda leans in studiously.

“All right.” Hilda claps her hands together. “So first question is, do you normally get this wet when you’re aroused?”

Shame burns in her chest. She wasn’t expecting she’d have to answer questions about her—her masturbatory habits! But...it makes sense. Hilda doesn’t know what’s normal for her. 

“N-no. Not usually.”

“But sometimes?”

Goddess, does she really have to talk about this? “Only when I’ve already. Um.” Her voice drops to a bare whisper. “...Come a few times.”

“Whoah. So Marianne is a multiple rounds girl. And you look so sweet and innocent!” She slides two fingers between Marianne’s thighs, almost touching her panties. 

Marianne’s quim clenches eagerly, excited at even the peripheral touch. The feeling of emptiness inside her is only growing, gnawing at the back of her mind.

Hilda lifts her fingers ever so slightly, so they’re just brushing the fabric of Marianne’s panties. “Wow, your panties are _soaked through_. How do you feel down here?”

“Hot,” she mumbles. “Empty.”

Hilda cups Marianne’s mound in one hand, pressing the other flat against her forehead. “Huh. You don’t _feel_ like you have a fever. Even down here it doesn't feel any warmer than usual for the area.”

Marianne’s noise of acknowledgement is strangled. Hilda’s fingers are exerting just enough pressure on her clit that it’s a fight not to grind forward for more.

She loses.

Hilda laughs disbelievingly, examining her hand as she pulls it back. “Okay. If it’s got shy little Marianne humping people, this spell seems pretty powerful.”

Right. So they should get to someone who can remove it.

“There’s no _way_ we can bring you back to camp in this state. What if it keeps getting worse and you jump Claude or something?”

Oh Goddess, she hasn’t even considered that. “You’ll have to go ahead without me. Head to camp and send Manuela to see if she can remove the spell far away from everyone else.”

“Who knows what state you’ll be in by the time I get back? Or what if someone else comes along?” Hilda shakes her head. “No, we have to try to do something about it ourselves.”

“Do you...think you can remove it?”

“Nope!” Hilda says, rolling up her sleeves. “I only just learned Nosferatu, I can’t _remove an enchantment_. We’ll have to see if we can burn it out.”

“Burn it out...like…”

“Well, if you were making a spell to arouse someone and increase pleasure, you’d probably want it to wear off at some point, right? It’s probably intended to enhance an _encounter_ , or an evening. So, if you come, it might go away!”

“I...guess that makes sense.” She tries to think of any spells that work similarly, but her quim is clenching wildly at the thought of orgasm. It’s hard to focus on magical theory.

“Of course it does.”

Marianne steps a few paces further off the road and turns her back to Hilda. “Can you..um...keep watch while I take care of it?”

“Marianne,” Hilda says, with a touch of exasperation. “It’s very self-sacrificing of you to volunteer, but you can’t handle this by yourself.”

“W-why not?” 

Hilda shakes her head. “It’s magic, right? You can’t use white magic to remove magical ailments on yourself, so why would touching yourself be able to fix it?”

“I’m not sure it’s quite the same...”

“Do you really want to risk it? The spell is clearly designed for an encounter with a partner.” Hilda sighs. “Look, I’m graciously offering myself up to help you here, you’re not really the one being inconvenienced. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know.”

Hilda...touching her down there. Her cheeks feel like they might burn off at the thought. “Do...do you really think it has to be someone else?”

“I’m _positive_ , Marianne. Now come on, lie down and let’s deal with this. We’re already going to be late reporting back.”

Right. Marianne sits down on the grass, leaning back so her feet and torso are flat on the ground with her legs bent at the knee. “Okay. I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience.”

“It’s okay,” Hilda says indulgently, and pats her knee. “You can treat me to tea again later.” She kneels on the ground, folding the top of Marianne’s skirt up around her waist. Her hands urge Marianne’s legs farther apart. 

Biting her lip, Marianne complies—parts her legs, raises her hips when Hilda’s fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and pull them down. The feel of air against the wet lips of her quim makes the part of her that’s still lucid want to clench her legs together and curl up in modesty—but the beast under her skin revels in it, wants to hump lazily into the open air.

“Wow.” Hilda raises her eyebrows. “You really don’t do much maintenance down here, huh.”

“M-maintenance?” she asks, gasping as Hilda’s fingers pull apart her labia.

“You know. On this.” She tugs lightly at the curly hairs around Marianne’s groin. “I trim mine into a heart, which might be a liiittle advanced for you, but it wouldn’t hurt you to at least tidy up a little.”

Why? It’s not as if it gets in the way of anything—oh, but is it getting in Hilda’s way? Is she unusual for not trimming it? “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I guess I should know not to expect Marianne to tidy things up by now!” Hilda giggles.

Marianne joins her in laughing, hoping to dispel the awkwardness of it all, of lying on her back on a roadside with Hilda’s hand between her thighs. She’s not sure it helps, but her mind is starting to get fuzzy at the touch, starting to not care. 

Hilda’s finger slides over her clit, and she yelps.

“What’s wrong?” Hilda draws her hand back. “Did that hurt?”

“It’s too much,” Marianne gasps, feeling like she’s going to cry in frustration. “Too sensitive.” Now what is she supposed to do?

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Hilda says, eyes widening earnestly. “Then I guess we’ll have to get a little creative.” 

“...Creative?” she asks uncertainly.

But Hilda doesn’t appear to be listening, looking at Marianne’s quim with something akin to fascination as she runs the pad of her thumb over Marianne’s labia. “Your lips are so big and puffy down here. It’s kind of _lewd_.”

“Sorry?” Marianne isn’t sure how to respond to that. She’d always assumed she was normal. But no, apparently her vulva is just as rough and beastly as everything else. 

“Don’t worry, I know you can’t really help it. Your secret’s safe with me.” Hilda tugs gently at one of her inner lips. “Seriously though. _Wow_.” 

Her clit’s jostled by the tugging, and it’s enough to send a shudder through her. Her moan cuts into a gasp as an image of Hilda’s quim, dainty and pink with a perfectly shaped heart crowning it, pops into her mind. 

Please let it just be jealousy. (She knows it’s not jealousy.)

Hilda’s fingers keep exploring. Two of them trace over Marianne’s hole, a soft and strangely pleasant pressure. Marianne doesn’t normally pay herself much attention down there, but—

Abruptly, those two fingers plunge into her quim.

She’s moaning before she even realizes what happened, her hips jerking involuntarily into the touch. It’s just a drop against the burning emptiness inside her, but it’s _something_ . “ _Oh!”_ she gasps, her body bucking against Hilda’s fingers, trying to shove itself further onto them. She can’t stop herself—even though her face is burning, even though she can feel that they’re buried up to the knuckle and there’s not even any more to _take._

Hilda laughs. “Someone’s impatient.” Without pausing, she shoves a third finger past Marianne’s entrance. With that it starts to feel—not satisfying but substantial, like she’s feeding the beast within her rather than fanning its hunger.

She covers her face with her hands, unable to keep watching Hilda stare at her hand disappearing between Marianne’s legs. “Please,” she says, muffled into her hands.

Hilda draws her fingers back for a moment, only to shove them back in, Marianne’s body offering no resistance. “I would have thought you’d be a delicate virgin, but you’re actually really needy down here, huh?”

Her chest sinks in mortification. “I—I’m not normally like this, it’s the spell! I’ve never put anything up there!” Even as she protests, her body’s rocking into Hilda’s movements, the fingers thrusting in and out of her.

“Okay, if you say so,” Hilda says, driving her fingers in with particular vigor. 

Goddess, if anyone ever finds out she behaved like this… _Good luck marrying me off then,_ she thinks, with a burst of vindictive satisfaction that surprises even her.

The wet noise is audible as Hilda thrusts her fingers in and out, making Marianne’s quim shape and reshape itself around them. It should be a strain but it’s not, her body a ravenous void that just wants _more_. “Wow. It’s so sloppy.”

The fire in her is getting worse, her body already used to Hilda’s fingers. A whimper escapes her throat, plaintive and wanting.

Hilda tsks, shaking her head. “ _Jeez_ , okay, you’re really making me work here.” She pulls her fingers out, and Marianne had thought they weren’t doing much for her but _oh_ , she didn’t realize the void they were filling. When they press back in there’s _more_ , though, stretching her wider, fuller. Hilda’s pinky is so dainty, how could it feel so much bigger inside her?

With the need between her thighs temporarily satisfied, the rest of her body starts to call at her, her tits itching for touch. The beast wins, and the hands that are covering her face in shame fly to the fastenings of her bodice, tear at them until she can yank her breastband down and let her tits spill free.

Hilda laughs breathlessly. Her fingers are stuffing Marianne full, knuckles digging into the soft flesh around her hole. “Wow. Never thought I’d see _you_ like this.”

 _Like what_ , Marianne wants to ask, but she knows, can feel herself clawing at her own tits, flesh spilling obscenely over her fingers as she kneads at them. Her hole is swallowing every push of Hilda’s fingers, twitching happily around them as they fill her.

She’s close, maybe.

But suddenly there’s a pressure inside her—new untouched parts of her jolting at sensation, Hilda’s fingers so much _deeper_ than before. The line of Hilda’s thumb presses along her labia, nudging her clit from the side, and she realizes Hilda’s whole _palm_ is inside her, up to the thumb.

And her body just...took it. Swallowed it in one gulp. She wants to hide her face again, but the thought of tearing her hands away from her tits is unbearable.

“Jeez,” Hilda says, drawing her palm back. “It’s just going right in. I guess that’s still not enough.”

Does she look that desperate? She opens her mouth to tell Hilda that actually, she thinks this might be fine—

But Hilda’s thumb is already moving, the tip nudging Marianne’s hole as it tucks against Hilda’s palm. 

The stretch is incredible.

Her mouth falls open, a groan ripped ragged from her chest as Hilda’s thumb spreads her further and further open. For the first time she feels discomfort, a strain as the crest of Hilda’s thumb crams into her entrance. 

“Hilda, I don’t think it’s going to fit—”

“Just _relax_ , Marianne. Trust me.”

She tries, wants to, but her quim is protesting, whining at the stretch. She’s positive she can’t take anymore but then Hilda pushes deeper and she gasps, the ridge of that thumb bone digging into a sensitive spot on her inner walls, her entrance sighing in relief as the thing pushing past it starts to narrow rather than swell.

“ _Oh_ —”

The tips of Hilda’s fingers are coaxing at the back of her walls, rearranging her to make room for the rest of Hilda’s hand.

Her body allows it. The swell settles fully into her, and her hole grips down on Hilda’s wrist. Did she really—

There’s a strange shift, like Hilda’s fingers are moving around. Suddenly the fullness inside her concentrates, an intense weight pushing her walls aside. 

“Crazy,” Hilda says in gleeful disbelief. “You’re actually taking my entire fist.”

Her _fist?_ Oh Goddess, she’s going to be ruined, she’s never going back to normal, never going to be satisfied by something reasonable—

Hilda draws her hand back, until the ball of it is pulling at Marianne’s entrance, and then thrusts it back in, her eyes alight with sick fascination as she watches Marianne’s body take it. 

Marianne can’t believe her body _is_ taking it. Hilda’s hand is buried in her to the wrist, shoving her walls aside as it pumps in and out. Before, every push of fingers had a peak, a moment where it stroked over her most sensitive spots, but this doesn’t give her that respite, just a constant overwhelming pressure that barely leaves her room to breathe. 

Her hands are still fumbling at her tits, squeezing her nipples. Desperate noises spill from her throat. Why does it feel so good? 

“Wow, you’re really into this, huh?” Hilda says, eyebrows raised. “It’s a good thing we’re not doing this in camp, everyone would be able to hear.”

Marianne thinks she’s talking about the moans, but then Hilda draws her hand back with a squelch, loud and obscene. It sounds filthy, embarrassing. But the beast doesn’t care—the beast _revels_ in it, even as Marianne’s breath catches in shame.

The noise she makes when Hilda pushes back in is how she always imagined harlots might sound.

She needs—she needs to regain some self control. Preserve her dignity. But every messy plunge of Hilda’s fist inside her has her body feeling like it might combust. How is she supposed to control herself with Hilda’s knuckles dragging demandingly over nerves she didn’t even know she had?

She—she can’t—

Her nails tear at her skin, breath coming in gasps as her quim ineffectually tries to clench down around the object unforgivingly prying it open. The heat under her skin flares and pulses out in a wave, sending trembles from her toes to her cheeks as she spasms around Hilda’s hand.

She’s come before but it didn’t prepare her for this feeling, this intensity. Her orgasm crashes over her, wipes her mind clean and leaves her dazed.

She lies there for a while, panting. The sky is so...blue. 

Oh dear. She’s still holding her tits.

Hastily, she releases them, looking down guiltily to Hilda still kneeling between her thighs.

At the sign of lucidity, Hilda slowly starts to pull her hand back. Marianne chokes down a gasp, her body not caring that Hilda is trying to withdraw rather than moving with intent.

Or maybe it was right. Hilda pulls her fist just far enough to tug at Marianne’s entrance, then slides it back in deep. 

A moan escapes as she fumbles to pull herself up on her elbows. “Hilda...I came.”

Hilda laughs. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

“So...you can...”

“You were already super wet, Marianne, it doesn’t really change how fast I can go _...ohhh,_ or did you mean we should stop?” Hilda’s brow furrows. “Do you really think one is going to be enough? I mean...I’ll take your word for it, but that doesn’t seem like much of a spell.”

Does she really feel recovered? The heat has diminished, but maybe she grew used to the feeling and can’t detect it anymore unless she’s burning in it. If she concentrates...maybe there’s still something there? And Hilda’s fist still feels so good inside her. Is that the spell?

“You’re probably right.” 

Even as she says it, doubt blooms. Does she really believe that? Or does she just want Hilda to bring her off again? Hilda _trusts her_ , she’s such a terrible person!

But Hilda’s fist is already moving inside her again, pulling at her walls, pulling the thoughts right out of her head. 

“Don’t worry, Hilda will get you all taken care of.”

At least Hilda doesn’t seem distressed by the chore, watching her wrist disappear into Marianne’s quim with something almost like relish. Or maybe Marianne is just seeing what she wants to.

With the haze of one orgasm still clouding her mind, her thoughts grow lewder. What-ifs flash through her head—if Hilda had been the one hit with the spell, or if they hadn’t caught it so early. Would she have grown desperate enough to—to hike up her skirts and start riding her own hand in the middle of the road? To tackle Hilda to the ground and hump her thigh? She can feel that urge even _now_ , the fact she’s pinned on Hilda’s arm perhaps the only thing saving her from giving into it. 

Her clit begs for attention, as if it’s not still too sensitive to touch. Before she can even feel embarrassed at the thought, her hand has moved between her legs, and she’s pinching her lips together around her clit, using that cushion to roll it between her fingers as Hilda’s fist stuffs her full.

Oh Goddess. With her forearm resting against her abdomen, she can feel something _moving_. Hilda’s fist is taking up so much room inside her that it’s making her stomach bulge. Every thrust presses along her forearm as the outline of it shifts under her skin. 

Surely her body wasn’t meant to take anything like this, but it doesn’t _care_ , gleefully savoring the feel of Hilda’s fist shoving apart her inner walls, of her labia squeezed gently around her clit.

There’s a strange pressure building inside her, swelling with every stroke of Hilda’s knuckles over her walls. Is she—is she going to pee?

“Hilda,” she gasps, “you have to take your hand out.”

“Wha—why?”

“ _Quickly!”_ she snarls, voice breaking. She can feel Hilda’s fingers shifting inside her, but it might be too late, she can’t take it anymore, she’s going to burst—

It’s too quick. The bump of Hilda’s thumb catches at her entrance as it pulls out, and she _breaks._ Her quim floods with heat, her knees shake, and that pressure explodes into a hot gush expelled from her body. Ecstasy pounds through her, beating down the flash of horror that’s flailing to surface. 

Pulse after pulse courses through her, gushes out of her, until she’s wrung-out and drained, a panting wreck flat on her back at a roadside.

It’s not until Hilda clears her throat that she snaps back to consciousness. She just _peed on Hilda!_ She needs to apologize, to help her clean up, to do _something!_

But Hilda’s not even looking at her soaking wet sleeve. “Feeling better? Jeez, you made such a mess. Kind of impressive, though. I didn’t know you could squirt.”

Oh. So she didn’t… Still! She got Hilda so wet! 

“S-sorry,” she pants. Her face feels swollen. Her throat is strained from gasping. “I haven’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, the spell again, right?” Hilda grins.

“Y-yes.” Marianne clears her throat, trying to tug her bodice back into some semblance of order. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine. You can treat me later or something.” Hilda says offhandedly, grabbing her hand to help her onto her feet. 

Just like that? Hilda’s so generous...Marianne really doesn’t deserve her.

Hilda pulls out a handkerchief, and dabs at her sleeve for a while before wadding it up with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t have anything to clean up with, though. I can’t just head back to camp like this.” She holds out her shiny wet hand. “Can you lick it clean?”

Marianne stares at it, mind spinning. Part of her wants to, and doesn’t care why. The rest is confused. “But...then it will still be wet.”

“I’d rather have your spit all over my hand than your _pussy juices,_ Marianne,” Hilda says, with a hint of exasperation.

Oh. She guesses that makes sense.

Swallowing, she brings Hilda’s hand to her lips. Her own juices are salty-slick on her tongue as she runs it over the pads of Hilda’s fingers. 

It’s really the least she can do.


End file.
